Titanic Summer

by Russell J. Sanders

  I can’t believe I joined her movement. I really didn’t intend to. I told myself I was just going there to support her. She won my support when she supported me. Even now, I’m wondering if I’m supporting her cause or her.

  I had to break the news to Mal about the march. And I knew I’d catch hell from her about it. She’s one of those ultraliberals they ranted about at the meeting. Not a chance in hell she’d be against this transgender thing. Or HERO. Mal is adamant that everybody deserves every right. She cheered when SCOTUS announced their progay marriage ruling. Which is why I have to tread lightly when it comes to talking down Dad’s wedding.

  Mal would just have to understand about the movement thing. I didn’t care one way or the other about HERO. I just wanted to be there for my mom, and Mal is big on that sort of thing. She’d understand. I hoped.

  To shut Mom up and get her moving, I grabbed her and hugged her, planting a big kiss on her cheek. “God gave me the best mom any guy could have.”

  She smiled at my compliment. And yes, I did feel a little guilty about mentioning God there just to make her happy.

  I ran back to my room and snapped up the phone. “When will you be home?”

  “I’m pulling into the drive right now.”

  “You know your mom will kill you if she sees you driving and on the phone.”

  “Yeah, well, Mom’s not home. And I broke the rule so that I could call you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You said to call as soon as I could. Well, now was that time.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t be so touchy. I’ll see you in ten—fifteen if Mom doesn’t get a move on.” I kinda shouted that and directed it toward the hallway, hoping Mom would hear.

  I pushed the button to end the call. Then I headed to the parking lot. Going through the front door, I called out, “Meet you at the car.”

  As I got to our parking space, I remembered Finn.

  I found his number on the screen and punched Send.

  “Holler!” Finn’s voice was still full of sunshine.

  “You know, sooner or later, that joke is going to get old.” I laughed.

  “Maybe I’ll find another one. At the moment, I’m reading Jokes for the John.”

  “You’re not….”

  He cut me off. “And a very satisfying time I’m having.”

  “Gross, Finn,” I said. What a doofus. He lays me out.

  “So what was on your mind before you had the current mystical experience?”

  “Well, I was thinking we could”—he affects a British accent—“attend the cinema tonight. You game?”

  With Mal at the beach, I, whether I liked it or not, was free as a bird. And seeing Finn again was a welcome thought. “Yeah, sure.”

  “And how’s about a mouthful or two of Chuy’s before the show? Or maybe your two days in a row was too much for you?”

  He really knew the way to my heart.

  “Finn, my friend, I told you yesterday—every day, twice a day, never get enough. Chuy’s it is.”

  “Great. Meet me at the Mustang at six thirty sharp, ’kay?”

  “See ya.”

  I tucked my phone away. A warm feeling came over me.

  On the way to Mallory’s, I thought of all I had to tell her… about Dad being gay, about my newfound self-worth. She’d be happy about that. And I’d have to tell her about Dad getting married. I truly wasn’t looking forward to that talk, but I knew I had to lay my cards on the table. I was not going to that wedding, and Mal was not going to convince me otherwise.

  And I would tell her about Finn.

  I smiled.

  Chapter 19

  MAL DARTED out of her house as soon as I pulled into the driveway. She grabbed me from the driver’s seat, screaming, “It’s so good to see you, my basketball hero.” Then she looked over the top of the car and said to Mom, “How ya doing, Mama?”

  Coming around to take the wheel, Mom laughed and answered, “I’m peachy, Miss Mallory. You take good care of my boy, now, you hear? I’m off to the church.”

  As Mom seated herself, Mal said, “I swear, Mama, those walls would cave in if you missed a day of going there. Keep up the good work.” Then Mal shut the car door, and Mom was off.

  Over our years of friendship, Mal and Mom have become friends too. Which is a good thing because Mal gets in some digs that fly right over Mom’s head. If they weren’t friends, she could get herself in hot water with Mom sometimes.

  “Wanna give old lady Mingus something to talk about?” Mal’s tone was conspiratorial madness.

  Before I could answer, she grabbed me, turned me so the nosy neighbor across the street could see only the back of my head. Then Mal grabbed my head, pulled me into her, and faked a long, passionate kiss. Our lips don’t touch, but the neighbor couldn’t know that.

  I let her have her fun, and I pulled away. “Enough, Mallory. That sort of thing’s gonna get you in trouble someday. You’re evil.”

  “Well, if I’m evil, Mingus is the devil incarnate. That old bitch watches me like a hawk and reports everything I do to my parents. I try to stay out of her line of vision, but you know me, I slip up. I don’t know how many times she’s narced on me about driving with the cell phone. She can see me with my cell against my ear a mile away. So, if she’s gotta be an informant, let her describe that kiss to my mom. Mom won’t believe her for a minute. She knows you and I don’t hang that way. That will go a long way to destroy the old witch’s credibility.”

  I had to hand it to her. Mal always had a plan.

  “Now,” she said. “Come on in. The washer’s probably stopped by now.”

  Mal dragged me straight to the laundry room, where she transferred wet clothes to the dryer. Out of the bundle, she plucked a pink, lacy bra, something I had no desire to see. But Mal has no shame. She hung it on a hanger above the washer. Then we went to the family room.

  “Want a Coke or something?” she asked as I sank down on the sofa, feeling drained. Mal could really take it out of you. She was high maintenance. Her energy never flagged.

  I shook my head. I just wanted her to light so we could talk. I wanted to tell her about everything that I couldn’t tell her because of that stupid phone ban. And I was afraid of her reaction to some of it—most of it, probably. How to begin?

  I took a deep breath and started in with the basics. My Dad picking me up at the airport. The gay march in Philly. The guys kissing in the lobby, which of course, I’d already told her about.

  “Stop. That turned you on, right?” Mal was totally, utterly direct as she sat down next to me. She reminded me of Finn. Or was it Finn reminded me of Mal?

  “I had a mixture of reactions. I couldn’t believe I was seeing that, right there in the Grayson lobby. I’ve never seen two guys locking lips in public in H-town, believe you me. And I guess I had this residual company loyalty thing going on, thinking how dare you defile the Grayson name by being so bold.”

  “Annnd?” She stared me down. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yeah, Mal, I got hard, my prick grew a mile. It pointed toward those two, asking its own question, ‘which one of you wants this?’ Is that what you want to hear?”

  She broke a huge smile. “Of course that’s what I wanted to hear. But calm down. I’m just trying to get a mental picture of your frame of mind. I haven’t talked to you in two weeks, right? And we only have limited time here. If we’re going to solve any of your problems—and from the looks of you, this trip stirred up a lot of shit—then I have to delve right into the middle of it all.”

  Mal was a sorceress. She could always see right through me. And I wanted to dive right into the deep end. If I couldn’t spill to my best friend, then who?

  “Okay,” I said, embarrassed I was going to talk about this but relieved that I could talk about it to Mal. “Yes, I was turned on, but it didn’t last long because Dad pushed me into the elevator and went off to do his manager thing.”

  “That’s Brian for you.”

  “D
on’t I know it.” And that brought me to the morning of the big road trip departure and the green car thing and the retro request of using the paper maps.

  “Brian’s nothing if not unique. Who uses maps anymore?”

  “No one. I’m surprised they still make print copies of maps.”

  “Go on,” she said, commanding me to continue my story.

  Which I did. All the way to the end. When I finished, I felt totally spent. I’d reached down into the depths of my soul, and I wasn’t sure that anything she said was going to help me cope with all this. But I wanted it to.

  “The fiancé is black?”

  “Is that it?” I screamed, pounding my head. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “Seems pretty significant to me,” she retorted. “Your two daddies are going to be of two different races, after all.”

  I seethed. I stared at her. We know each other so well that I knew she knew I was pissed at what she’d said. After all, it bordered on racism and was a dig at me.

  “So let’s recap,” she said. “Your dad’s gay, he’s in love, he’s marrying the man he loves, he wants you to be best man, and you’re behaving badly.”

  Did I really expect sympathy from her? I knew this girl all too well. I wanted her to commiserate with me, to comfort me, to, God forbid, agree with me. I also knew nothing like that was going to happen.

  “Come on, Jake. When are your balls gonna drop? You’re old enough to man up about this thing. First of all, let’s talk about the drunk guy in the park. You were right not to go to his hotel with him. But isn’t it a good feeling that he wanted you to?”

  I thought. Finally, I said, “You’re right. I almost did go with him until reality set in.”

  “What? That doesn’t sound like the Jake I know. Declining his offer—sure. But the actual consideration of said offer?” I started to blurt out how I’d recently started finding myself, accepting myself, in tiny steps, but that didn’t happen because Mal continued her babbling. “The waiter at the hotel. You let your testicles—and your bad judgment—push you into that, but at least you made a move. It was not the right time, and it wasn’t the right move, but you acted like a red-blooded American gay man, at least. A potential rapist, I might add, but we’ll discount that because the guy told you to stop, and you did.”

  “Yes, and—”

  “No ands or buts. When are you going to own up to it? You’re gay. Get over it and start enjoying life.”

  “I might someday do that, but enough about my evolution as a proud gay man. Our time here is short. I want to talk about—” I was about to tell her about the rally, about Mom’s affirmation of me, about my revelations about myself, but once again, she cut me off.

  “I know, I know. You want to talk about your Dad and everything you found out about him.” I opened my mouth, but she shut me down as she plowed on through. “Are you so blind that you don’t see it’s all bound up together? I’ve spent a year hearing you whine. I’m gay. I can’t be gay. I won’t be gay. The guys on the team. What would they say? The coach? Would he want a queer shooting hoops on his court? My mother would kill me if she knew. I’ve gotta completely eradicate this notion from my life. Well, now you have an ally. Your Dad will understand you. He can help you.”

  Help me?

  “The lying bastard.”

  “Jacob.” I knew I was in trouble with Mal when she sounded like my mother, calling me Jacob instead of Jake. “Brian’s a good, good man, despite his unholy attachment to all things Titanic. He didn’t lie to you. He withheld pertinent information. There’s a difference. Remember my cousin Tim? The one who refuses to go to family reunions?”

  I looked at her and nodded, not really wanting to continue this conversation at all. I just wanted her to look at me and say something like, “You poor thing. Your Dad’s a shit.” “Well,” she continued, “Timmy and I talked once, right after he came out. I knew nothing about the gay thing, so I had a million questions. The first was typical. When did you know? Timmy told he was aware he was gay when he was about twelve years old. He said he didn’t know what he was feeling was called, but he knew he was different, and he knew it centered on the fact that he noticed other boys more than he noticed the girls. So he started researching. Timmy is a total brain and a computer whiz. Even was then. He quickly found out there was a name for what he was feeling. And that made him feel good. But, he said, it was five years, five long years, before he told anybody. And even then, it was another year before he revealed he had a boyfriend. As Timmy said, coming out is a process. You choose who you tell and how much you tell.”

  I knew exactly what she was saying, but her expounding on coming out was not helping me deal. “Get to the point.”

  “The point, Jake, is that your Dad had to process everything before he could tell anyone, even his own son. It’s a heavy thing, my friend.” I wasn’t buying what she was spouting. Not where my Dad was concerned. “That burden must have weighed on Brian for years, wondering when his baby son would be ready to hear it all. And his timetable probably had to be pushed up because he found someone, fell in love, and wanted to be tied to him forever. So cut him some slack.”

  “But he lied to me.” Call me crazy, but I couldn’t let go.

  “Remember when we first met? Why were you seeing the shrink?”

  “Because my parents split.”

  “Maybe, but I vividly recall when I asked, ‘why are you here?’ You actually responded. You were finally talking to me. Your answer? Because my dad lied to me. I asked for an explanation, and you told me you were having a hard time because your dad kept it a secret that your folks were getting a divorce.”

  “He did.”

  She eyed me quizzically. “And what about your mom? Did she lie?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your answer. I remember it distinctly. It was not ‘my parents lied,’ but ‘my dad lied.’”

  “Well, maybe I said that because it was my dad who was leaving us. My mom wasn’t the one who was leaving me.”

  “Did you just hear what you said?”

  “Course I did. I said it.”

  “Say it again. The part about your mom.”

  “My mom wasn’t the one who was leaving us.”

  “Uh-uh. You said, ‘My mom wasn’t the one who was leaving me.’”

  She could be so exasperating. “You know what I meant.”

  “Here’s what I think. And you need to listen to Dr. Mal. That me was a Freudian slip.”

  I knew what that was. I’d read about it. It’s when you had a slip of the tongue that says exactly what you mean. But she was interpreting my words wrong.

  “I think you’ve held that thing against him for all these years. You couldn’t blame your mom for the divorce because she was the one who stayed with you. You had to blame someone, so the only person left was your dad. And—hear me out—you love him, and you didn’t want to think bad of him. So you clung to the one bad thing he’d done so far in your life, his leaving. And deep down, you still think that if he had told you before the decision was made, you could have somehow stopped it all. And so, you are convinced that your whole relationship with your dad since you were a little kid, a little kid with a broken heart over his parents’ divorce, has been based on a lie. And it wasn’t a lie, my friend. He simply didn’t tell you the whole truth, just like all the revelations of this summer, and that eats at you. Not for his sake, but for your own, you’ve got to cut him some slack.”

  What made me the maddest was that she was making sense. Damn. I was so confused and conflicted and hurt and not thinking straight. So I clung. “But he lied. And I’m not going to any gay wedding—his or otherwise. I’ve made my mind up about that. Bri and Paulie”—I spat their pet names for each other—“can just tie the knot without me.”

  Funny how easy happiness can be, and we can’t see it because we let ourselves be blinded by raw emotions. That was me then.

  “You make me so mad, Jacob Harding. Your hard head won’t list
en to reason. I oughta throw your ass out of here right now. I don’t know why you came over here for advice if you weren’t going to take it. No—I do know why, and that makes it even harder to swallow. You value my opinion. You always have. And sooner or later, you’ll come round. So that’s why you’re not layin’ on the front yard right now, felled by a right hook. I love ya, sweetcakes. I’ll wait for it to dawn on you that you don’t want to cut your dad out of your life. It may take a while, but you’ll see I’m right. And I don’t have the luxury of trying to crack through that skull any more today. I’ve got to get my clothes folded, packed, and get on the road to Galveston. So, you’ve got five minutes to finish getting me caught up. Anything else happened that you want to tell me about? What about that Finn guy you met?”

  I couldn’t begin to fill her in on Finn in five minutes, but I did tell her, “He’s funny and cute and hot, and I could fall for him.”

  She was already walking to the door to show me out when she stopped dead in her tracks. “Come again.”

  “I said I could fall for him.” And then I quickly added, “If he was gay. I don’t think he is, but then you know me and my gaydar.”

  “Mr. I’m Never Gonna Be Gay is willfully considering jumping a stranger’s bones? That’s not the Jake I left here when I went to swim camp just weeks ago. What gives?”

  “Let’s just say I really like Finn. Like you, he makes me laugh. You two are a lot alike. And believe me, it will take more than our remaining two minutes to fill you in on everything. Seems like I’ve lived a lifetime the last few days. Meeting Finn was an adventure unto itself. Suffice it to say, for now, my mom knows I’m gay, and she approves. So I guess I kinda feel free to pursue it.” If the whole “getting expelled” black cloud wasn’t hanging over my head.